


Et Anima Una

by ImJaebabie



Series: Symbiote Sphere [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Polyamory, Symbiote Sex, Telepathic Bond, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, [oh shit here we go again .meme], i guess, symbiote na jaemin, these tags r genuinely killing me, this is not pwp but boy it sure looks like it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24343909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImJaebabie/pseuds/ImJaebabie
Summary: Renjun nods, perfectly composed. “Noted. So what is it about Jaemin and the incredibly satisfying sex we have, because of his tentacles, that’s bothering you? Is it the tentacles themselves suddenly? Or...literally the word? Tentacles?”“Please stop saying it so much...” Jeno quietly begs, pinching the bridge of his nose and willing his body to be calm, but failing. The word just does things to him. “It’s not an issue with...that, I was just wondering whether it’s good for him. Like, satisfying, the same amount? Is he being taken care of, I mean.”- a night revisiting the Jeno and Hide universe. :)
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Series: Symbiote Sphere [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757512
Comments: 37
Kudos: 532





	Et Anima Una

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speckledsolanaceae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speckledsolanaceae/gifts).



> this is a birthday present for my dear anne, who once about a billion years ago (i think) said, "so we've acknowledged that you're too weak for tentacle sex," killing me on impact. i never forgot it. it then took me four months to write this as i died again typing every other word, also it was supposed to be like 2k. so she's still correct but now we have this. anne i love u. 
> 
> please:  
> \- this is rated E for a reason if u r not E-rated approved i cannot condone u consuming this content.  
> \- i know i said i would never write this for them but sometimes people lie. ok? ok. 
> 
> uh anyway. here's.....yeah. sigh. here it is.

Jeno has thought about it for a while, in all the free moments where Jaemin leaves him an empty mind to spend on thoughts he’ll bury under shiny objects later so Jaemin won’t ask about them. Ever since the first time they really explored getting intimate with his...extra appendages involved, a tiny voice— _not_ Jaemin’s—in the back of Jeno’s head has questioned the equity of their arrangement, the balance between three when two are human and one is not. 

Over the pile of papers covered in diagrams of molecular structures, Jeno sighs wearily and his head droops. 

Ok. There’s a blunt way to put it. 

Fucking with tentacles is amazing, but the one with the tentacles tends to do all the work. 

It’s isn’t like Jaemin complains. On the contrary; he’s almost worryingly eager to please. And he fucking _pleases_ . Even just casually pondering on the topic has Jeno getting a little worked up, jabbing at the button on the thermostat to increase the air conditioning level in his home office. He can’t help it—even if he’s trying to mull over only a tangential element of his sex life—because he’s always had an active imagination and it’s never been concerned with waiting for a good time to imagine feeling good. So he has to fight for room to think around the mental images of Renjun naked and flat against his chest, moaning into the hollow of his neck, the one point of focus keeping Jeno from blacking out at the pleasure of the _thing_ inside him that has the dexterity and size to touch him in all the best ways—largely because there’s one inside Renjun too, forcing the two of them to cling to one another to stay remotely sane. 

It’s not Jeno’s fault that his body responds immediately if he so much as thinks of a rose gold tentacle getting anywhere near him. 

Damn. Now he’s half hard, and no one’s even close to being home for hours. 

That’s what he gets for trying to be considerate. An unintentional boner in his home office at two in the afternoon, and a standing rule that they don’t get off alone. 

“There’s three of us,” Renjun had argued, “there shouldn’t be a need to jerk off by yourself.”

“What if one of us goes on a trip?”

“Imagine how good it’ll be when they come back.”

But Jaemin hadn’t appeared bothered and just assured both of them he’d never leave them wanting or waiting.

Jeno wonders about that promise in his current state, when he knows Jaemin is in the middle of teaching class. 

But the moment had also only added to his concern. What does Jaemin get out of this? What can they really do for _him_ that equals the pleasure he can exact from _them?_ Jaemin can so easily pin either of them to the bed (or anywhere. The wall...the kitchen island counter...against the car in the damn garage), hold them down in five places and fuck them both ways, and without even using a proper hand or mouth.

What are they supposed to offer back? A dick? Two dicks? 

Jeno has never been insecure about his size, so it’s a little disconcerting to be insecure about his entire ability to be a useful sexual being. 

Maybe he should talk to Renjun about it. 

For now, he shuffles to the stereo and selects the loudest, noisiest genre of music he can find and blasts it, glad that their home is a stand-alone building with no near-enough neighbors to make a noise complaint. The music (? questionable term) is the only thing that can drown out his bothersome thoughts enough for him to keep working. 

Jeno jumps a full foot when something touches his shoulder a few hours later. He turns, amid probable heart failure, to see Renjun frowning, his lips moving but words drowned out. 

“What?” Jeno asks. 

Renjun steps closer, and yells over the music. “Why is it so fucking loud in here?!?”

It takes Jeno a moment to find the stereo remote and when the music is gone his ears ring terribly, but at least they can sort of hear again. Not like he really wanted the music anyway; he entirely prefers Renjun’s presence. 

“Sorry, I needed it to focus.”

Glancing at the desk, Renjun squints at his papers and then at Jeno. 

“Ok, normally your formulas don’t require listening to screamo.”

“Yeah, well.”

Renjun squints harder, drawing up his arms to cross over his button-down. His mouth turns down at the corners, the same disapproving pout appearing that he always pulls when Jeno tries to withhold anything. 

“Are we going to talk about it or just start circling?” he asks. 

And well, Jeno _did_ want to talk to him about it, it’s true. But now it feels a little silly. He just isn’t sure how to phrase ‘y’know how our symbiote partner fucks us till we’re crying but doesn’t really ask for much in return? Should we do something about that?’ in a civilized way. 

Jeno twiddles his thumbs, clears his throat. 

“Y’know when we...when Jaemin, with his...the uh, y’know how we—“

“Jen, is this about sex?”

“Yes? How did you—“

“Baby, you get tongue-tied over very few topics. Mainly that one.”

“Oh.”

Renjun takes a seat on Jeno’s desk, folding his hands in his lap. “So, sex with Jaemin and?”

“And the,” Jeno still can’t help it, glancing out the window to the trees beyond and rubbing at the back of his neck. It’s very hot. “He does the thing, with his...things.”

“His things.”

“Right.”

“You let him put those _things_ in some shockingly intimate places and you can’t call them by the correct vocabulary term? You can’t say tentacle, Jeno?”

Jeno whines. So very hot. “Not can’t, so much as don’t want to.”

Renjun nods, perfectly composed. “Noted. So what is it about Jaemin and the incredibly satisfying sex we have, because of his tentacles, that’s bothering you? Is it the tentacles themselves suddenly? Or...literally the word? Tentacles?”

“Please stop saying it so much...” Jeno quietly begs, pinching the bridge of his nose and willing his body to be calm, but failing. The word just _does things_ to him. “It’s not an issue with...that, I was just wondering whether it’s good for him. Like, satisfying, the same amount? Is he being taken care of, I mean.”

“This has been bothering you the whole day?” Renjun asks, standing again and wrapping a hand around Jeno’s elbow. He looks a bit more sympathetic now, a little more attuned and sharing the concern. 

Jeno breathes a small sigh of relief. 

“Well, not all day. Half.”

A pause, in which Renjun glances down at Jeno’s pants, then back up. 

“Just half? Looks a lot more full to me.”

“Funny.”

“But you waited, didn’t you. With the screamo. What a good boy.”

Jeno could die, right this moment. Renjun doesn’t use praise much—not because it doesn’t work, but because Renjun always uses whatever is the most effective, obliterating thing in the moment, which usually is just a lot of mindless babbling. Or whatever. The ‘good boy’ crawls under Jeno’s skin though, and he feels a bit paralyzed staring down at Renjun. 

Luckily, Renjun is better at leading. He turns Jeno by the elbow and backs him up to the desk smoothly, petting a hand down his chest. 

“Should we find out tonight? What takes him to the edge?” he mutters huskily. 

“Y-yeah, I mean, if he wants to.”

Renjun laughs. “When does he not want to?”

The backs of Jeno’s thighs press against the desk top and he has to brace his palms against it, or topple back onto all his papers. Renjun isn’t leaving him any space, finding a nice perch by slotting Jeno’s knee between his and all but treating Jeno’s leg as a saddle. His smaller hands smooth over the fronts of Jeno’s shoulders and he hums. 

“Let’s be ready for him, then. Or you’ll be too focused on yourself to give him the attention you want to.”

“No I won’t,” Jeno argues, mildly insulted. 

Renjun drops a hand to his zipper, pressing knuckles into the narrow line of metal until the pressure makes Jeno nearly kick; it’s too much, it’s not enough. 

He needs more, something different, anything to take care of—oh. 

Jeno blinks his eyes back open and smiles sheepishly. 

“Yes, you will. What do you want, my hand? Mouth?” Renjun keeps running his fingers over the zipper, teasing awfully. “Or will it matter that much, if I keep talking about what he can do to you?”

“I don’t think it’s going to mat—“ Jeno’s sentence gets choked off by a groan as Renjun’s fingers dart suddenly into his pants, forming a tight circle around the base of his dick while the heel of Renjun’s palm presses into the taught flesh above, “—ter, shit.”

“This is how he likes to hold you, isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah.”

“But it’s tighter, slicker when he does it,” Renjun squeezes his fingers and Jeno buckles forward a degree. He lets go at the base and slides along Jeno’s growing length, not easily inside the confined space of his pants. “And he can do both, touch you and hold you off, touch me at the same time, with those velvet tendrils...”

His words are hot whispers against Jeno’s ear, his hand teasing Jeno’s arousal but hardly enough compared to what he’s describing. And still, Jeno can’t keep it together, can’t stop from keening into Renjun’s shoulder and huffing while his body responds to both sound and feeling. 

“I wonder if he likes having them touched as much as we like being touched by them,” Renjun muses. “Maybe he wants your tongue to lick along one for a change. What do you think, baby?”

Jeno hasn’t had a coherent thought for the past ten minutes. He swallows and licks his lips, catching against Renjun’s collar a little, and imagines following the length of a tendril with his mouth wide open. He doesn’t know if Jaemin will want it, but god, he does.

“Jeno?”

“Yes."

Renjun rubs his palm over the sensitive head of Jeno’s dick, sticky precome smearing with it, and Jeno feels his stomach muscles contract. 

“Injunnie, let’s...not in the office,” he huffs.

“Where? Where do you think he’ll want you?”

The kitchen island comes to mind again, but Jeno shakes his head against Renjun’s shoulder. “B-bedroom."

Curling his hand behind Jeno’s neck, Renjun guides his face up and kisses Jeno, hardly waiting a moment before sneaking his tongue into Jeno’s mouth and messily seeking out his. He kisses insistently, and Jeno has to grab his thighs quickly to stop Renjun from sliding off his leg and falling, an action which Renjun seems to take as encouragement to rut his own crotch against Jeno’s muscle. 

“C’mon, Jun,” Jeno begs, drawing his chin back. The hand still in his pants is driving him insane, so close but not near enough. “Please. The bed.”

When Renjun pulls away his lips are a mess, red and wet, and there’s a haze in his eyes. His fingertips glide over Jeno as he removes them, tantalizing. 

“Jaemin better run home, or you’ll be too exhausted to do anything for him by the time I’m done with you.”

With that, he slides off Jeno’s thigh and wipes his mouth on his wrist, turning and leaving the room while Jeno tries to collect his wits. 

He doesn’t find them. 

He follows Renjun. 

—

The glass of cold water is a welcome relief, cooling and restoring Renjun from the inside out as he leans against the kitchen sink. He only manages to refill it halfway before he’s interrupted, a lean body lining up to him from behind. 

“Why hello,” purrs Jaemin. 

“There you are,” he replies, “took your time.”

“I had student-advising hours. But I’m home now, and it seems like I missed out.”

Renjun sets his glass in the sink and turns his head to quirk an eyebrow. “What gives you that idea?”

Jaemin presses his nose into Renjun’s neck, his lips curling against skin, and breathes in deeply. 

“I can smell it all. But you being naked is a pretty big clue, too.”

Renjun laughs. 

“Where is he?”

“In bed. I needed water, but I was just about to head back.”

“Did you hydrate enough?” Jaemin asks. 

Sliding around Renjun’s waist, a pinkish tendril appears and curls into the sink, dipping into the half full glass soundlessly. A moment later it rises, lifting up to Renjun’s lips covered in cool droplets. It’s almost instinctual, the way his jaw opens and allows the strange appendage inside his mouth, accepting the tease of refreshing liquid and the warm, adventurous creature that prods his tongue after it. He feels his chest start to heat again, not unrelated to the tendril between his lips or the hands spreading over his ribs and lower.

After a minute, Jaemin removes the tendril and lets it rest on the curve of Renjun’s neck while he catches his breath.

“Enough for now,” Renjun manages.

Jaemin nibbles a kiss into his neck. “What about Jeno? Should we bring him something?”

“I did, there’s a glass by the lamp. He’s out though, we’ll have to wake him up.”

With an affectionate coo, Jaemin steps away and pulls Renjun with him, hand sliding from his elbow to his wrist to lead him gently along. 

“Did you eat?” Jaemin asks as they pad down the hallway, slippered feet a muted scuff against the synthetic wood.

Renjun laughs. “No, I got home and he was already worked up. Had to take care of business first, you know? He’s probably starving and hasn’t even realized.”

“And you?”

Jaemin glances back and Renjun bites his lip.

“I guess but...” He feels his face flush. “We were waiting for you, until he fell asleep, we were thinking...”

“Mm?”

The bedroom door eases open under Jaemin’s touch and he gazes into the room even as he listens. Renjun catches up, fitting into the other side of the doorway and sharing the view, because it’s a good one. One of his favorites.

Jeno always looks unreal when he sleeps. 

One arm hanging off the bed from the elbow, and the other crooked over his head, Jeno looks like he’s been hit with a tranquilizer, on his stomach and absolutely unmoving except for the slow, even rhythm of his breaths. His face is peaceful, if still a little flushed. On this particular day, he’s sporting blooms of red across the visible part of his neck and some on his shoulder blades, which disappear under the swathe of blanket covering his waist down to mid thigh. A few splotches of red litter that skin too. 

Jaemin chuckles. “You bite him more than I do.”

“I do not, I was trying to keep him from falling asleep!....it backfired a little.”

Gliding into the room, Jaemin crouches at the side of the bed near Jeno’s face, gingerly reaching to graze fingers across his forearm. Their partner stirs only slightly, a hint of frown forming on his brow.

“Hmm, maybe we should let him be. Do you want to cook—no, let’s just order some food. He can eat when he comes-to.”

Renjun sighs. “He’s going to be disappointed with himself.”

“I’ll make it up to him,” Jaemin says, rising again and turning to reach for Renjun. He drifts easily into Jaemin’s arms and lifts onto his toes to drape around his neck. After a minute, Renjun exhales and hums, still clutching at the cotton of Jaemin’s shirt.

“I’ll get dressed and make the order.”

Jaemin’s hands drag around his bare waist and pinch at the small amount of pliable skin at his lower back. “Don’t. Stay like this, I’ll order.”

“Oh?”

“Why put on something that’s only coming right off again?” His hand slides lower, possessively handling the curve of Renjun’s ass. “You’re something else to arrive home to, you know. We might be obsessed with you.”

These kinds of words still make Renjun shiver. He pulls away. “Just get sandwiches,” he orders, and crosses to climb back into the middle of the bed next to Jeno, who hasn’t stirred. 

Jaemin grins. “Whatever our love wants.”

—

Jeno wakes to a growling stomach. 

It’s unclear to him at first, though, whether it’s his or Jaemin’s, his mind still a little too disoriented from sleep to differentiate between directions of sound, especially when his eyes open to subtly glittering golden skin just past where his cheek rests.

When his mind clears a little, his first thought is, “did we eat?” and his second, “oh no, I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep!” and he voices both as he fumbles to get an elbow under his weight and sit up. 

There’s a bell of a laugh behind him, Renjun clearly amused, and Jaemin grins toothily as he reaches to trace fingers over Jeno’s jaw. Jeno cannot guess at what point Jaemin arrived home, but the fact that he had enough time to get comfortable in bed with them, dressed only in shorts and sneakily able to cradle most of Jeno’s torso into his lap without waking him, means it must have been a while. 

“We didn’t eat, but Renjun did. There’s some food in the kitchen for you.” 

Jaemin keeps caressing Jeno’s face as he speaks, his fingers sliding back to thumb over the lobe of his ear and Jeno probably does need to eat. But he’s remembering the hour before he fell asleep, and what he wanted then, and taking time to ingest, digest, and settle food before putting those plans into practice does not appeal. 

Renjun leans over and brushes a hand down his side then, following with a kiss to his shoulder. “We’ll be right here when you’re finished,” he says, once again making Jeno question which of them has the ability to read his mind.

With a frown and quiet grumble, Jeno manages to extract himself from the bed and shuffles to the kitchen with a throw blanket mostly wrapped around himself. Sure, he _could_ just walk around naked, it’s their house, but he figures the more often he’s undressed in the kitchen the more difficult it will be to view that room for it’s true purpose.

And anyway, it’s just awkward.

Jeno bypasses the sandwich he finds on the counter, neatly wrapped, and heads for the cupboard they keep best stocked at all times.

When he returns to their room, it’s with half a large chocolate bar in his mouth.

“Did you not see the—”

“I saw it,” Jeno interrupts Renjun, talking around his mouthful of dark cocoa and balancing on one hand to crawl back in between them. “I moved it to the fridge. Thank you for having it ready for me, but I think this is all I need. Here.”

He turns the other direction—and Jaemin’s pointed gaze greets him, although Jaemin’s eyes fixate unfalteringly on his lips—and shoves a little brown cube at Jaemin. 

“Dinner is served.”

Jaemin’s eyes dart down to the cube, and he smirks. “Baby, my favorite! How did you know I wanted cleverly disguised chemicals?” he jokes, holding his palm up to lick the cube away with an uncannily long swipe of his tongue, and Jeno rolls his eyes but smiles as he peels more wrapper off his own candy dinner.

“Almost like I can read your mind.”

“How many more years before that joke dies?” Renjun asks. Whatever he was doing before is out of sight now, and he shuffles closer until his knee presses into the side of Jeno’s leg and his hand finds a place to rest on Jeno’s ribs. He puts his chin on Jeno’s shoulder, where his head bobs as Jeno shrugs noncommittally. 

With a laugh, Jaemin stretches his arms and grins one of his alarming smiles. “I think we will continue to make it until we no longer share one brain. So, forever.” 

The need for Jeno to constantly, methodically consume chocolate in order to keep Jaemin satisfied has long passed, more now a faded, almost fond memory than anything else. His mouth is no longer used to the sickly-sweet of the quick-melting candy in the same way; it’s smooth and yet slightly tacky-feeling, and he finishes the rest quickly. It’s probably not a mystery to either Renjun or Jaemin why he chose this snack. 

But he’s never been particularly coy on purpose. Hard to be, when you have a symbiote.

Renjun’s hand falls away from Jeno’s skin as Jeno moves suddenly, kicking the lingering soft blanket off and throwing a leg over Jaemin’s hips, resituating to straddle him comfortably. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” he says, which...yeah, sounds a little petulant coming out of his mouth, but he doesn’t want to lose the hot spark of flame that’s been licking at the inside of his chest since that afternoon. That spark knows what Jaemin is capable of despite his pretty appearance and gentle facade. It wants to find the way to turn that around for him. 

Jaemin quirks his head, looking up like he’s not quite surprised, but amused, his palms sliding over Jeno’s knees to tuck fingers into their crooks. “What are we ready for?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious, I mean how often are we just not wearing anyth—Renjun seriously, do you have to laugh? You’re not making this easy!” Jeno interrupts himself. It’s distressing to find Renjun laughing into the pillow next to them, the fine slope of his shoulder shaking with mirth. 

“What do you want to do, Jeno?” Jaemin asks, and Jeno’s chin turns back to him guided by a gentle tendril. 

The spark curls a warm line of heat low in his body. 

God that touch is just...unlike anything else. 

His eyes blink heavily a few times as the soft point of the tendril curls over his jaw, stronger than it looks. Jeno leans into it, aware of Renjun’s eyes on him as he finds the smooth appendage with his fingers and holds it close enough to kiss.

“It’s not what I want,” he breathes, keeping the texture against his lips, “it’s what you want. I want to take care of you. I want to do whatever you like the best.”

“We like everything.” 

“No, I mean... I know.” Jeno strokes down the length of the tendril to where it’s thicker, the flexible limb soft and dry to his touch. He hopes that feels good. His memory is full of similar instances of sensual touches, but he can’t place one that includes Jaemin voicing specific personal pleasure. It’s all wound up between them, inside them—it’s just _them._

Shared experience can be confusing.

Sometimes, the saving grace of Renjun is that he doesn’t live inside the haze Jeno does. He can be clear even when Jeno doesn’t know whose thoughts are inside his head.

“Jaemin,” Renjun’s warm voice says, “he wants to make this about you this time.” 

“Hmm, then that's still what _he_ wants, isn’t it?”

Jeno can’t help the whine that passes his lips, frowning into the tendril’s touch. “You’re twisting it around.” His frown deepens at Jaemin’s smirk. “Can’t you just go with it and tell us what you enjoy?”

“Kisses—“

Jeno leans forward eagerly, the chocolate taste still thick on his tongue—

“—between the two of you.”

A second tendril stops Jeno in place, pushed against his stomach with a splay of tinier tendrils like the reverse of a piece of gum sticking to his skin and being pulled. He almost feels betrayed, but the darkening glimmer in Jaemin’s eyes—not the kind just anyone could have, but where his eyes simply become gradually less human—goes straight between his legs. It’s already as though he’s spent the entire day turned on, and now is no different with his arousal growing the closer Renjun draws. 

With a snort of a laugh, Renjun tilts himself over Jaemin enough to meet Jeno’s lips, humming sweetly into the first few presses until Jeno lowers his chin and silently invites him in, and Renjun licking the candy residue away is a relief. 

The pace feels slower than Jeno anticipated—honestly, historically Jaemin’s pace has been _hot_ and _fast_ leaving them both dizzy—and he’s trying not to be impatient but does Jaemin like it? Really? Outside of his head, like he is currently, it’s all a guessing game. 

Maybe...this is what it’s like for people who _don’t_ telepathically communicate with their partner. Huh. 

That sounds terrible, Jeno thinks, as the tendril against his stomach massages nicely, and Renjun sucks on his lower lip. Sure, he can’t get inside Renjun’s head, but they addressed that early in the relationship. Communication is key, Renjun had said, like giving his own TedTalk, and then followed up on it by speaking his mind often.

Or sometimes, speaking without speaking. 

It’s his fingers that do the talking instead, circling around Jeno’s cock suddenly where it rests half-hard against Jaemin’s lower stomach. It makes him jerk, still a hint sensitive from their playing around earlier, and groan into the kiss. The tendril on his own stomach refigures itself, something Jeno knows from the feeling alone; the light tickle of it sliding snakily up his chest and in a curl around his neck, lifting to cross the few inches and circle Renjun’s too until they’re both ensnared, hooked together. 

Renjun makes an unsatisfied sound and shifts into his knees, his free hand reaching across Jaemin to brace on his far hip while he keeps slowly stroking Jeno and kissing him, which is a whole lot to be doing for one person. But Jeno has always admired how capable Renjun was in any circumstance.

Even when that circumstance is a new tendril nudging up between their chins to poke its way inside Jeno’s mouth like another tongue joining the fray. 

It doesn’t really leave room for composure; Jeno’s effort to keep pace with Renjun while also sucking on Jaemin’s intrusion leaves him incapable of stopping saliva from drooling out over his lip. His hands reach for Renjun blindly, tangling in tendrils in the effort to grasp at his sides. 

“You always unravel so slowly, so beautifully.” The words from Jaemin could be addressed to either of them, Jeno knows. Or probably both at once. 

He squeezes his thighs around Jaemin in response, reveling in the contrast of the cooler skin. Jaemin always runs a temperature moderate to cool, no matter how heated they get—it mirrors how the more Jeno feels his mind slip in pleasure, the more Jaemin seems to be relaxed and unfazed. Even now, he seems calm, as Jeno opens his eyes to assess. 

He tilts his head to the side to break free from Renjun, Jaemin taking the cue to pull the tendril out from its exploration of their joined mouths. Renjun’s hand stops, resting on Jeno’s thigh. 

“How,” Jeno pants, “can I unravel _you?”_

Jaemin looks at him like Jeno is the one who can sprout tentacles at will. 

“I enjoy myself the most when _you_ enjoy yourself the most. We enjoy _together_. Hasn’t that been clear?”

Yes, sort of, but…

He’s full of memories of being pleasured beyond his imagination, of coming apart at every possible seam and Jaemin there in his mind a voice of pure eros, or cooing and soothing and praising. But not demolished in physical bliss, not the same. 

Jeno climbs off Jaemin and slides to sit cross-legged, because he’s struggling with this and not sure why it’s just happening now. 

“Baby, is it really bothering you?”

He glances up from the sheets to meet Renjun’s concerned gaze, and his heart swells and aches at once. Renjun in college was a realized dream, a sweet yet fiery and feisty young man, pretty and small but strong. Like...a protonated atomic bond. Tiny but capable of holding important things together. 

Renjun a few years away from thirty is...better than Jeno’s dreams. Filled out with confidence and the validation of success, no longer tied to anxiety and fear by his family. He’s still soft but there’s a maturity to his jaw, cheekbones, eyes, something that he’s grown into, and his efforts to strengthen his body don’t escape Jeno’s notice, nor Jaemin’s. 

When he cups his hands at Jeno’s neck, they’re gentle and strong.

Even if they are still small when one of Jaemin’s hands folds over top, as he sits forward and joins Renjun in careful observation. 

“It is,” Jeno says, voice low, “I’m worried I’ve been self-centered about this for...how long? Since our first kiss?” 

Renjun breaks into a little grin. “I seem to recall Jaemin being the eager one then.”

“We have never gotten bored with your taste,” adds Jaemin, angling to drag his lips over Renjun’s neck and lick. “We’ll never get enough of it.”

It makes Jeno’s chest burn but he grips his hands together still. “Then is that what you want? Are you satisfied with the taste of us?” Despite what Jaemin says, despite hearing him inside the sanctity of their mind daily, Jeno hasn’t fully been able to discard the slowly growing insecurity that maybe he _is_ going to get bored of them. Or at least bored of him; who could get bored of Renjun? But Jeno knows he hasn’t changed a freckle’s worth in the nearly ten years of them being together and for a being like Jaemin, one of infinite shape and possibility, wouldn’t his static human capacity become stale? And for how long can he continue to please, when he always seems to be taking?

Something soft and firm pushes between Jeno’s eyebrows, forcing his frown to smooth with gentle massaging circles. Pink gold, that retracts when Jeno looks up.

“My Jeno,” Jaemin says, murmur floating to him from where Jaemin has curled himself around Renjun’s shoulders, “this love isn’t about something so plain as satisfaction.” He noses into Renjun’s hair, then directs his eyes back to Jeno, who feels pinpricks across his skin. “Maybe it’s hard to fully understand, but I will remind you. What my kind is, doesn’t live the same way. My kind only hunger. We don’t breed, we don’t mate, we don’t even naturally love in our basic form, which means all of that comes from you both. It’s learned, or perhaps given. You have shown me hunger of a different kind, this desire.” 

He’s never expressed it bluntly like that before, never addressed it in those terms, and Jeno can tell it affects Renjun as well to hear. Then again, Renjun has Jaemin’s hands moving in clearly distracting ways over his skin, skating over his chest, and--yes, when Jeno’s eyes dip lower, there are coy tendrils vining around his bent legs and teasing at his arousal. 

Jaemin loves to take them apart in as many ways as he can at once.

“I learned a few interesting, useful things from Donghyuck over the years as well,” Jaemin adds like an afterthought, turning his head to lick up the side of Renjun’s neck.

“Please refrain from mentioning my best friend’s name when we’re trying to have sex,” Renjun instructs, even as his eyelids slide shut and his head lolls back, finding support on Jaemin’s shoulder. 

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Jaemin hooks his chin over Renjun’s clavicle, his inhumanly long tongue reaching down to wet and taste the bud of his nipple.

In the past, Jeno has jokingly-but-not accused Jaemin of being somewhat voyeuristic, always goading Jeno into things so he can see them happen—\even just that evening, claiming more gratification from watching them kiss than from doing it himself. 

Well. He won’t admit it now, but maybe it’s rubbing off on Jeno as a kink too. His mind feels like it’s turning to maple syrup just watching Renjun go limp in Jaemin’s hold, a veritable net of slim alien tendrils gently writhing around his waist and hips, one of his hands motionless on the bed while Jaemin grasps the other with his normal-looking hand and continues to break him down into nothing but sensation. 

There are sweet little tendrils tickling at Jeno’s knees.

_Are you ready to join us again, love?_

He’s slunk back into Jeno’s consciousness so smoothly Jeno hardly noticed, too distracted by what he could see of Jaemin to track what he couldn’t. That’s what almost ten years of mental coexistence will do, he guesses.

 _It is._ Jaemin answers for him. _We are seamless, a separation that does not exist cannot be felt._

 **We have distinct thoughts, we have that on purpose.** Jeno retorts, though it isn’t easy to keep his wits with the sounds of Renjun’s broken breath in his ears and the tiny tendrils coalescing into one greater one, which wraps around his cock slowly but surely, melding with its own coils till it’s more a sleeve than a tentacle. It feels incredible, warm and snug as it is perfectly shaped to hold him, and pulsing just so, making Jeno’s thighs tense.

 **We are distinct.** Jeno reasserts, if only to convince himself. **Which is why I want to know how to make you feel good like this too.**

Jaemin hums, a thrum in Jeno’s brain. _You do._

The alien matter gripping him strokes, a slow undulation forward and back, like a tide. Jaemin’s touch can be utterly frictionless if he wants and with only just the dribble of precome present it’s already an effortless, delicious slide. Jeno’s breath cuts a quicker rhythm.

 _Existence on Earth for my kind is almost completely cerebral. That means you. The rush of chemicals, endorphins, all that surges through your neural pathways_ —as if to prove his point, Jaemin takes a lap through Jeno’s mind touching on various feelings, highlighting pleasure points— _this is what we love. I don’t get off, Jeno. I get you. We share it. We come together_ — _your pleasure is mine._

_Now, up. On our knees, and lean into it. Renjun’s waiting._

So caught up in listening to the tantalizing words inside his head, Jeno misses whenever it was Renjun’s hands had found their way to his shoulders, holding on for dear life, and already he’s gasping as Jaemin keeps an unrelenting pace of jerking him off in a mirror of Jeno. 

Jeno feels no stronger than gelatin but gets to his knees anyway, letting Renjun’s fingers come to link behind his neck, and taking hold of his lithe waist in return. Renjun’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and Jeno leans in to follow it, kissing him in staccato.

“One minute he’s—” Renjun gasps out, when they part, “—he’s right behind me then, oh god, then he’s invisible of course and, _fuck_ , doing _this.”_ Renjun pulls closer to Jeno and tucks his face into the crook of his neck. “Is he going to let me come? Or what, Jen, p-please, I’m going crazy.” 

Jaemin laughs warmly in the back of Jeno’s hazed-over mind.

“He says nothing is stopping...either of us,” Jeno pants back. Renjun is rocking in his arms, chasing release inside of the flexible cavity Jaemin has created around him. A bead of sweat trails down Renjun’s nose and onto Jeno’s skin, in tandem with Renjun’s pleading whine. 

The same desire and pleasure are echoing in Jeno’s body and he craves the bloom of bliss he knows is near; he hardly decides to do it before his hips buck forward into the slick, tight space, a moan spilling from his lips as he tries to thrust at the best angle—

—and then chokes on his breath when the sensitive head of his cock pushes against something slick, hot, and unexpected. Renjun shouts at the same moment and they both jerk back on instinct, neither able to go far as the semi-sentient sleeves tighten around them and keep them restrained.

When Jeno can blink enough to clear his eyes, he glances down and gapes.

“The fuck is this?”

Renjun’s whole chest is heaving and he seems equally transfixed on the sight.

The separate sleeves that pleasured them before are now just one, sheathing both their erections and Jeno realizes with crushing clarity that what he ran into mid-fuck was quite literally Renjun’s dick. It’s a good thing there’s a second entity working in his head because Jeno can no longer think.

Then Renjun pushes his hips forward again, the sleeve slightly loosens, and there’s a wet press where they meet again, like an obscene sort of kiss. Pulling back again only tightens the hold, preventing either of them from pulling out fully.

Jaemin fizzes like several thousand bubbles of pure amusement.

**Jaemin, what the fuck.**

_Remember that toy we had in elementary school?_

Jeno does not, but as Jaemin shuffles the memory forward Renjun groans and laughs at the same time.

“Did Jaemin just...finger trap us at the dick? Is this a fuck trap?!” dissolving into hysterics, Renjun shakes with laughter and clings to Jeno even as they’re stuck together. 

Words fail Jeno, now easily recalling the clever toy Jaemin means, the colorful woven bamboo that unforgivingly entrapped his fingers as a child until Jeno learned the trick to escape. He’d played with the tricky thing for hours back then, but now he’s sure he’ll never think of it the same way. 

“It’s a...a fuck trap, yeah,” Jeno finds himself saying, scared a little to move but trying to shift his knees on the mattress to relieve some of the pressure from the same position he’s been in for a while. Holding onto Renjun’s hips stabilizes him, but the movement still tugs at Jaemin’s ensnarement and causes it to tighten again. Renjun shakes and moans in response, hips canting forward and his forehead tipping against Jeno’s.

“Jaemin,” he begs, “how do we get out of this?”

A huff, could be either Jeno or Jaemin, Jeno isn’t sure himself. “He suggests we try climaxing.” 

“I should have guessed.” 

_Don’t worry, if Renjun relaxes we’ll help him._

**What does that me—oh.**

As it usually does with Jaemin, help comes in the form of efficient, persistent appendages, ones that circle around their stomachs, splitting to corkscrew down their thighs and offer support like braces that squeeze sensually as well. With Jaemin’s creativity caging them together again, Renjun gives Jeno one determined look through dilated eyes and drives his pelvis forward. 

The position proves itself impossible to get used to. Between the grip they both rut into and the nerve-bruising, electric head-to-head brushes at its center point, Jeno knows neither of them will last long.

Renjun shudders and breaks rhythm suddenly, though, his face a painting of ruddy hues from his flushed forehead and closed, fluttering eyelids down to his swollen lips trapped in a bite. They fall open to release a broken exhalation the next second, around the same moment Jeno notices the shape of rose-gold just behind him.

 _Our darling is delicious no matter where we taste,_ is the wording Jaemin chooses to let Jeno know that yes, he is currently eating Renjun out, as if what they were already doing wasn’t enough.

Thoughts are difficult when he’s feeling the front edge of bliss pulling at his own core, but Jeno worries slightly just the same. **He’s going to pass out if we’re not careful…**

“I’m...I’m going to die...oh my god,” Renjun informs them.

 **See?** **  
**

_Time to let go, then._

If Jeno searches mentally for the extension of Jaemin reaching out of his own body—and the extension of tongue that extends further from there—he can feel to a degree what Jaemin does to Renjun, which is how he knows the strong, saliva-drenched alien muscle presses bullseye-sharp into his prostate a second before Rejun comes with a shout. There’s nowhere for the mess to go but directly forward onto Jeno’s dick too, and the knowledge plus the feeling of warm spend suddenly coating _him_ and making the slide that much slicker is all it takes for Jeno to practically buckle in half. The entire world goes blurry around him as he releases, only managing a weak moan that sounds muted and distant to his own ears, vaguely feeling Jaemin drink up the chemical release and revel in the shared feeling like a cat in it’s favorite sunbeam.

Jeno can’t remember if it always feels this good or not. He feels blown apart. He’s not super sure where his fingertips are, or where _he_ is, either, for that matter. 

Maybe because at some point between his mind-shattering orgasm and the recovery, he’s been man-hand—well, tentacle-handled onto his back, his lungs still heaving even under the pressure of a splat-web of restrictive Jaemin-matter. He can’t move his arms? Or much of anything.

_Alright, baby?_

Jaemin’s pleased coo in his mind’s-ear is sultry and coy, as though he hasn’t got Jeno bound to their bed while he’s still sensitive.

Even thinking is too hard. “Where’s Renjun?”

Gratefully, Jaemin is kind enough to turn their head, and in the next instant peel out of Jeno to hover-crawl over the limp form that is Renjun—on his side looking at Jeno with glassy eyes and his lips open in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. 

Renjun meets his eyes for a second before he’s bubbling with laughter. “This is backfiring so bad,” he says, reaching fingers to find Jeno’s closest hand and entwine with his. “What were we thinking?”

“Hubris of mankind,” Jeno admits, slowly coming to terms with the fact that he’s just not capable of blowing the mind of a creature with objectively higher sentience, even if that creature does sometimes get confused by simple things like texting or oven mitts. 

But in this case, that creature remains unbothered. “We’re having the time of our lives,” Jaemin asserts as he cuddles around Renjun, petting the scruffier hair over his ear and rubbing up and down his arms. He presses a spread of kisses up his neck and then follows it by licking at his chin because with Jaemin there is usually licking at some point. Jeno’s more than used to it. 

“Darling…” purrs the symbiote, nosing behind Renjun’s ear, “are we all done? Jeno can go again”—this is news to Jeno only in the sense that he hadn’t stated it, but a fun fact of his alien-host life was learning that his refractory period basically ceased to exist, so Jaemin’s not wrong—”and we’d really like to…”

Renjun has pulled Jeno’s hand over to him to play with his fingers, and Jeno eyes him. His skin glistens with a thin shine of sweat overlaying the rosy flush of exertion, and if Jeno scans him over—which he does, often, as often as possible—there are ribbon-like marks from where Jaemin’s tendrils most recently held the tightest. The contrast of color against the pale blue sheets reminds him of a painting, something impressionist maybe. 

His answer begins in the smile half-pressed to the mattress just below the pillow. “I don’t know if I have enough energy to really _do_ anything…”

“And if you didn’t have to? Do anything. What if we did it all?” 

Renjun rolls onto his back under Jaemin, lifting a hand to lightly skim his arm. He shrugs and nods. “Then sure.” 

“Not doing anything” in most cases, Jeno imagines, would mean being the one allowed to lie comfortably and let the pleasure simply happen to them; Jaemin seems to agree only in part. But then, Jeno won’t fight him that the sight of Renjun braced above them in a rigging of tendrils, just lifted enough over their body to be easily fucked into, isn’t one of the most incredible things he’s ever seen. Jeno’s already fully aroused again, just from watching Jaemin lift Renjun and knit him into place, leaving his entrance accessible and a shoestring-sized tendril circling teasingly just below the head of his dick. 

While Jaemin sinks back into his skin, Jeno double-checks. “Is that comfortable? Are you...actually relaxed or—” not really sure how to ask, he slides his hands up the length of two of the shimmering tendrils to where they grip securely around Renjun’s thighs, and gently squeezes.

“Feel kinda weightless actually,” Renjun says, rolling his head to one side where a clever tendril immediately offers him support. He sighs. “It’s nice. Can you believe some people use, like, rope and stuff for this? That has to feel horrible. Sex with tentacles is obviously superior.” 

Jeno agrees but blushes at the term still, just the same. 

_He looks so beautiful, wrapped up in us…_ Jaemin sighs, looking from their shared perspective. _He’ll look even better full of us, too._

**Fuck**

It’s neither really a question or exclamation, but something in between. Regardless, Jaemin answers, _That’s the idea._

Like a cobra charmed out of it’s basket, yet another of the seemingly infinite tendrils winds the short distance up to Renjun and prods curiously at his rim. Renjun bites down on his lips and hums through a whine as it teases the muscle, for a few minutes just loosening the slight amount still possible considering what Jaemin’s tongue had already done. From the slick sound as it finally enters him and curls around to stretch, he’s still well-lubricated too. 

Renjun confirms it. “A-ah ok, that’s...god,” he hisses, “if you two want to fuck me _before_ I come again and really am too tired, you’d better just do it and stop..f-fucking teasing. Like now.” 

Jeno follows a sudden compulsion and pushes up onto one arm, taking Renjun’s chin into his fingers with the other hand, and gives him the deepest kiss he knows how. He tastes too sweet—and a little like turkey sandwiches—considering how easily he says such things. 

_Jeno._

**Mm?**

_Do you still want this to be about me?_

In complete honesty, Jeno lost track of any agendas a good while ago. Having every nerve in his body liquefied by orgasm made it impossible to keep them up. But...yes, the goal of finding what pleasures Jaemin most still stands.

**Yes, I do.**

_If you want to make me feel the best, then let me take over. The only better feeling than a chocolate high is having control of your pretty body, love._

**It’s yours.**

Jeno feels Jaemin masking his body into his own favored, pink-haired appearance even as they break the kiss with Rejun, one final indulgent suck on his lip before leaning back. Renjun exhales shakily and drags his eyes open again, then blinks in surprise.

“O-oh. You...oh.”

_“Hello, darling. Shall we?”_

The response is an eager nod, and Jaemin cants up with exact precision to push inside him. 

There have been a handful of times since meeting when Jeno has agreed to let Jaemin take him over, for various reasons. It’s not really something they commonly need to do, not when Jaemin can just as easily move himself about for up to twelve hours of comfortable autonomy, or contentedly share Jeno’s body without being visible at all. Using him like this, like a telepathic marionette, rarely seems to fulfill a purpose.

But Jeno thinks he’s missed a point, now. When he lets go completely, and Jaemin fully controls their movement, it’s like floating one degree deeper inside himself. Ironically, and contrary to his whole purpose in the night, he also needs put in no effort. It’s Jaemin who, interwoven with Jeno’s entire nervous system, telepathically linked to his mind, dives down through every bit of tissue and sinew and bone and engages his whole body, _their_ whole body, into the single point of focus that is his cock pushing in the heat of their lover to find the spot that will undo him. Jeno can feel the lick of growing ecstasy from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. 

He’s not even _doing_ anything. 

Renjun wriggles his arms in their constraints and whines, and Jaemin frees him enough for him to brace his hands on their forearms. He grips tight, mirroring the grip Jeno’s Jaemin-shaped hands have on his hips. The undulation of their bodies together is perfect; between Jaemin’s mastery of Jeno’s body, and the synchrony through his tendril-hold on Renjun, there’s no clumsy element to hinder him from fitting perfectly inside Renjun and dragging achingly out. 

They must brush his prostate then, because he moans wantonly, teething again at his very swollen lip. 

_“Good, darling? Enjoying yourself?”_

Renjun digs his fingernails into their arms. “So good, so—” he loses words for a moment in favor of some sounds Jeno can’t distinguish meaning from “—feels amazing. Please just...k-keep going.” A bead of sweat slides down his temple, and Jaemin’s tongue appears to languidly lick it up. 

_And you, love? Is it good, Jeno?_

They say that nothing enhances pleasure like true intimacy, and Jeno can’t imagine being more intimate than he is with these two persons. His body teeters at the edge of release with every thrust; it’s coiling, curling in his core and when Renjun clenches suddenly Jeno gasps.

**Close, we’re...we’re so close.**

“Babe, I need you,” Renjun hiccups, “I need you to touch me, please, it’s right there I just need—” 

Jeno sees with through Jaemin-masked eyes the tendril previously just holding Renjun’s sex awaken into movement, sliding to life along his length with intent. It strokes just the way Jeno would, does, when it’s his hand on Renjun, pleasuring him just as lovingly. But, it doesn’t feel like Jaemin just _mimicking_ Jeno’s style, though. It feels like…

_We, love. We adore this body, this man, with everything we have._

_He’s_ the force of will behind part of Jaemin’s movement, Jeno realizes with a shock so great their hips stutter unbidden, pulling a moan from Renjun. The tendrils, Jaemin, everything alien they do has never been Jeno, not as he considered it, but he understands now. When Jaemin says _we,_ he doesn’t simply mean Jeno’s body is his. He means he’s Jeno’s as well. 

_We._

They catch Renjun’s eyes, glazed-over and euphoria-drunk, and _Jeno_ guides a free tendril up to caress his cheek, and the one at his erection over his crown to lick at his slit like a tiny tongue. Renjun’s voice breaks through a loud moan and then he’s coming, body trembling through it before going lax in their binds, and it only takes them driving their hips forward a few more times before they spill into him too. 

Jeno feels like his mind is in twenty places, dissolved throughout his whole body and Jaemin’s and all the pieces that are them, and every bit of it burns in perfect bliss, with Renjun’s flushed face the center focus of it all. It’s so fucking good. And the best part is that even though Jeno couldn’t find his thoughts if held at gunpoint, he can _feel_ how good Jaemin feels, how the orgasm that ripped through Jeno’s body didn’t miss a molecule of Jaemin either.

He blinks, and in that second Jaemin pulls off him like a wetsuit, sliding down and leaving Jeno a panting mess to re-materialize behind Renjun and wrap arms around him, supporting him carefully to lift him off Jeno and lay them both down at Jeno’s side again. Everything is a mess but Jeno imagines it’ll be a little while before they really try to do anything about it.

They’re all beyond words for several minutes, a duet of breaths harmonized by Jaemin’s hushed kisses against the back of Renjun’s neck. 

“Did we...did we do it?” Renjun’s exhausted voice asks eventually. “Jaemin, did we make it good for you?"

Jaemin nuzzles into his hair, and smiles at Jeno over him. “Nothing has ever felt better, darling.”

If he had the breath, Jeno would laugh at just how much that sounds like an understatement. Now that he knows the secret to the best sex in the universe, he knows nothing will ever feel as good again. And yeah, it involves tentacles. He’s not afraid to acknowledge that anymore.

Renjun exhales a sigh and fumbles for Jeno’s hand. “Oh good, if not I’m not really sure what more we can do. One of us is only human, after all. There’s only so far I can go.” 

“You can go pretty fucking far,” Jeno quips, raising an eyebrow at him and thinking of some other fairly inventive past experiences of theirs. Jeno may have the alien in his head, but Renjun seems not to have an ounce of fear.

All cradled up in Jaemin’s embrace, Renjun looks almost innocent, which contradicts the teasing smirk on his lips. He shrugs, and snuggles back into Jaemin, any last hints of tension in his body quickly dissipating. Sleep takes hold of his voice quickly, and he yawns.

“Well, I’m gifted like that. Seriously though, we should do the exciting stuff as long as we can. There’s no way we can risk doing shit like that if there should be a kid in the house.”

“Yeah.” Jeno stills. “Wait, kid?”

**Author's Note:**

> IT DOESN'T GUARANTEE ANYTHING OK. OK?
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/ImJaeBabie)   
> or twt @imjaebabie


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